To Understand
by IsabellaImogen
Summary: Sucky title. Short oneshot scene I've had in my head for a while. Based off the principle that only drunks and children tell the truth. Slightly AU, considering the character I've added.


Sir Percy's measured tread seemed loud in the sleeping silence of Blakeney Manor as he strode along the darkened hall, stopping to knock quietly on the door to my lady's room. Receiving no answer, he opened the door and peered into the gloom for only a moment before he ascertained that she was absent from her chamber. His keen mind immediately guessed where she might be found at this late hour.

He paused outside the nursery door. For a long moment, he drank in the sight of her, haloed in the light of a single candle like some recumbent Madonna, her small hands gently brushing the curls back from the brow of the small sleeper on the cot beside her who had been resident at the manor for some two years now. He dared not even speak her name for fear the spell woven by silence would break and shatter their respective dreams. So he waited, as he had always waited for her, as he was always prepared to wait, until the end of time, if need be.

Perhaps it was a draft that caught the edge of his cloak, casting a flicker of shadow; or perhaps he had leaned unconsciously towards them; or perhaps (and most likely,) it was an ineffable awareness borne of the deepest and truest love that can bind two souls as one—she looked up.

She did not smile—how could she? but he felt her tender greeting in a glance.

"You're leaving?" she whispered as she rose and came to him. He clasped her hands and kissed them without answering, as both knew she required no affirmation. Her arms stole about his neck and he held her close to him, his lips grazing her brow as both sought comfort though they knew they never wholly found it in those uncertain times.

As with all dreams, this one did not last long, as a rather literal awakening brought an end to their unchallenged bliss.

"Papa!"

Small feet were already thundering across the rug, nearly tangling in the long nightgown the child wore. Percy barely managed to lower himself to one knee by the time the fair cannonball slammed into him. Percy settled the child on his knee and laid his cheek upon the golden crown of curls, wrapping warm and secure arms around his little son.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, my boy?" he finally managed to chide gently as the unrepentant wee scalawag cheerily kicked his pink little heels against his father's towering form and tugged at the edge of his cloak.

"For', Papa, for'!"

Exempt from any awareness of fashion aside from what frills and furbelows got in the way of play and what did not, the boy drew no conclusions from his father's traveling garb beyond idly thinking his heavy cloak might make for a lovely fortress, given some stools.

"Not tonight, Andrew," said Percy softly, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Morning," stated the child firmly, assuming that play would have to be put off until he'd satisfied his parent's need for him to stay abed o' nights.

"No, not in the morning—for I must away," explained his father gently as Marguerite moved to stand behind him, gentle hands resting upon his broad shoulders.

"Why?" came the immortal question oft repeated by children the world over until they are old enough to understand that they may never find a satisfactory answer.

"I cannot say, my son."

"When are you home?" asked small Andrew. Percy prayed his voice would not break.

"I cannot say." He pressed his lips against the boy's hair and hugged him tightly for a moment, then stood and carried him back to his cot, settling him upon it, drawing the covers over him. "You must go to sleep…and I must away."

"No!" came the cry from all their hearts but only the infant's lips.

Marguerite sat upon the edge of the cot and took the now wailing boy in her arms, hushing him gently as Percy stood stricken and for once uncertain. His wife's glance was sharp, but pleading.

"Just go," she whispered desperately over the muffled sobs, gently rocking their son. "He's too young to understand—it's best if you just go."

Percy held her gaze for an interminable moment before he turned and strode from the room, turning to shut the door behind him as Andrew's disconsolate cries grew louder in the wake of his beloved papa's departure.

"_Papaaaaa_…"

As Percy mounted his horse and thundered off towards Dover, his wife's final words echoed in his mind.

_He's too young to understand._

—_Or he's the only one who truly does._


End file.
